


Lost in You

by Harbinger



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Humor, Loki Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harbinger/pseuds/Harbinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles of FrostIron, as prompted by a friend. Will be added in sets of five or so at a time. Varying content, no real continuity unless mentioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Security

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I decided to amuse one another by throwing random prompts at one another. I wrote for FrostIron and here are the results. I have no idea how many of these there will be, nor when I may decide to stop them. I can now be found at harbingerfiction.tumblr.com. Want to see something? Ask me!

There’s a certain measure of security in lying in the arms of a loved one, especially a loved one who is afflicted with nightmares at the same rate as you are. The god blinks bleary eyes, uncertain for a moment as to what had awoken him until he feels the faint twist and hears a low whimper from the person nestled against his chest. Tony has pressed all the closer, attempting to mold them into one being in his sleep. The whimper escapes again, lower pitched this time, a distressful noise rather than one of pain. Loki’s brilliant green spheres track down until he notes that the billionaire has wrapped a hand around the arc reactor.

 

“No, no don’t touch it.” He slurs in his sleep, a hand flailing out and catching Loki on the shoulder.

 

“Stark, honestly.” The god mutters softly, leaning forward to brush his lips slowly over the genius’s pale, sweaty forehead. “Wake up, you fool, before I kick you out of the bed.” For all the harshness in the articulations, there is a glitter of worry reflecting in the god’s orbs, highlighted by the glow of the arc reactor.

 

He knows the dreams as intimately as Tony knows his own. Captured, tortured in Afghanistan, that thing stuffed into his chest with no medication to stem the pain, holding back that shards that would kill him. Loki knows how his lover suffers, waking up screaming or in a cold sweat, the blankets and pillows soaked it in. He knows that all of the love-making and alcohol in the world will not chase away these memories, just as nothing will chase away his own.

 

Tony jerks, coming awake with a pained gasp and flailing as though to attack the taller male. Loki catches his wrists and gently holds them to his chest until the wild, feral light in Tony’s brown eyes fades and the embarrassment that comes with being caught floods. “L-Loki?” Tony whispers, eyes searching the concerned green ones.

 

“No, I’m Thor.” The god says, dictions layered with sarcasm even as he pulls his billionaire closer.

 

“Oh god no, get out of my bed then!” Tony playfully exclaims, struggling against the hold for a moment before sinking into what would have been a deadly embrace some years ago. Instead, Loki nuzzles his neck lightly, the move intimate and gentle.

 

“Go back to sleep.” The god murmurs. “I’ll keep you safe.”

 

Tony hums lowly, eyes fluttering for a moment in panicked memory, but soon his form relaxes against Loki’s and he slips down into sleep. 


	2. Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's definition of the word 'honor' is very different from Tony's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is graphic. You have been warned. (slight typo fixed)

“You would kill me like this?” For all of his previous snark, there is a look of cool bravado reflecting in Tony Stark’s dark eyes. He meets the god’s gaze without flinching, uncaring of the blatant malice that all but drips from the emerald pools. Stark is chained to a wall, arms drawn aloft, legs spread. His torso is bare and only the underwear he put on two days previously protects his modesty. He bleeds from a myriad of wounds, blood trickling down his body like a lover’s caress.

 

The god is dressed to the nines in his armor and leather, cranium helmed with his horned headdress, bodice cloaked in the heavy couture that is meant to protect him. Yet his visage is bloody beneath the helmet, the billionaire’s blood smeared across his countenance. It stains his pallid complexion, darkens the flesh on his hands, soils his fingers. An idle touch makes the human hiss as the Trickster trails one finger along a gash on Tony’s stomach. He digs the finger into the wound, twisting it in a gruesome gesticulation; the sound of flesh squelching is a terrible noise in the quiet room.

 

“I would.” Loki comments, sounding amused. “You and yours have caused so much trouble for me, Stark. I will enjoy taking this vengeance.” Mirth trickles from his vocalizations as he trails the bloody finger up to Stark’s lips, forcing the digit into the mad inventor’s mouth. Tony gags, attempting to wrench his skull back but meeting only harsh wall. In the end, he stills, letting the god stroke his tongue and force him to taste his own blood.

 

Loki loses interest in that after a moment and slams a small, throwing dagger into the gut of the genius. Tony utters a little cry of pain and jerks against his bindings in an instinctual attempt at escape. Pulling the dagger out, he lifts it to Tony’s face and traces his lips and cheek with it.

 

“Tell me, Loki, do you even know the meaning of honor? Cause it’s looking to me like you don’t.” Anger curls through his words even as his heart stutters in fear. “Honor is giving me a chance. Honor is letting me heal and letting me suit up and then kick your ass to hell and back.”

 

The god laughs an entirely mirthless noise, like the shattering of glass against wood. “Stark, please, you must be jesting.” His fingers trace the newest wound, slipping into the hole obscenely. “Why would I want honor? Honor is for those destined for Valhalla, for those who walk the life of light. Come now, little Avenger, you know better than that. I am not a creature of honor.”

 

He leans up and presses his bloodied lips to Tony’s, uttering a feral groan of pleasure as his fingers twist and scissor the inventer's wound in twisted parody of completely different act. “Honor,” he murmured hungrily against Tony’s ear. “Is killing you quickly and mercifully. Honor would be leaving you here so that your teammates could find you. But no, Anthony Stark, you will die a long, painful, slow death at my hands and I shall relish each and every scream I tear from your throat. The only honor I shall afford you is letting your friends have your broken, bloodied corpse back when I am done with you.” 


	3. Chainmail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki decides Tony needs an armor kink. Tony decides he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there's no such thing as too much armor kink.

“How in the legit fuck do you stand to wear this shit?” Tony Stark complains loudly as he stands draped hilariously in most of his lover’s heavy armor. It weighs such upon his frame that he is bent slightly and the helmet forces him to keep his head perfectly still lest it topple off.

 

The god himself sprawls on the bed, a languid, amused smile twisting his lips. He is nude, body the picture of post-coital pleasure, orbs half-lidded. He’d been watching his lover toy with his armor for a few moments and had finally decided to just robe the smaller male in it. Tony might have the bulk that Loki lacks, but he lacks the height that the god does not. Tony had not been pleased when he’d rather suddenly found himself clothed in the armor – which all in all must have weighed fifty or more pounds.

 

“You bitch more than anyone I have ever met in nearly twelve hundred years of being alive, Stark.” Loki stretches, long muscles rippling pleasurably as he hums.

 

_“Tony, Tony_ , if we’re fucking you can at least use my first name.” The billionaire corrects, watching the stretch with hungry eyes. “Loki, come get me out of this?”

 

The god sits up, eyes sparkling with the mischief that he is so known for. He draws himself to his feet, towering at six two to Tony’s five nine. Each stride is a work of seductive art, pornography in motion, as he stalks toward the smaller male, humming lowly under his breath. Tony can’t help the shudder that runs down him as the Trickster circles him. “Ask me nicely.” The whisper is silk against his flesh, raising chills and hairs on the back of his neck and arms, coated as they are in armor.

 

“Please? Please get me out of this so that I can bend you over the bed?” The words start out breathy and pleading and slowly turn to something far more husky and commanding. Loki grins.

 

“Since you asked so very sweetly.” The god purrs, lips assaulting Tony’s gently as he removes the helm, letting it hang from his hand until Tony takes it and sets it on the floor. A wave of his hand dissipates the golden pauldrons and the cape, leaving Tony in his heavy coat and under armor. The coat is slid to the floor, the kiss becoming more frantic as the Trickster shoves his human consort back against the wall.

 

Piece by piece is removed with sinuous care, dropping to the floor carefully as Loki worships each bit of flesh with a need unsurpassed. It’s as though Tony is the god and Loki the human, with the black-haired male slowly sinking to his knees to take care of the rising arousal that has been pressed against his own from the start.

 

Tony groans, fisting a handful of hair and managing to bite out a single phrase before he succumbs to pleasure. “And there’s my armor kink.”


	4. Amusement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki decides the Avengers need to be animals for the night. The Avengers are not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't always write crack, but when I do...

Loki does not bother to hide the devious grin that had crawled across his mug as he gazes down at the incredibly pissed off looking rabbit at his feet. The rabbit is a dark brown in hue, with equally hued eyes and a black marking on its countenance that was very reminiscent of a certain billionaire’s beard.

 

_‘Turn. Me. Back.’_

 

The words rang clearly in his mind and it is indignant squeak of the syllables that finally broke the dam. The Trickster bends at the waist and cackles, not a thing of terror or malice but of sheer mirth. He slumps down against the bed, laughing hard enough to wind himself. The rabbit angrily headbutts his knee, glowering in the way that only a sentient being can do.

 

Loki gasps in a breath and bites down more laughter. “It’s not just you, Stark!” More giggles exhume from the god’s lips and he clutches his stomach to ease the ache of laughter. “The Russian is now a Russian blue cat, Banner is a flea, Rogers is an eagle – an eagle, get it!” More laughter escapes from the god, drunk on the mischief he has caused in the Avengers Tower, as well as about three bottles of absinthe.  A barrage of barking interrupts his cackling. “Thor is a golden retriever, as you so enjoy telling him he looks like. And Barton –“ He cackles again. “Barton is a penguin!”

 

The rabbit continues it glaring, not finding the situation funny in the slightest. It’s quite humiliating normally to have to look up at his lover, but doing it from this angle is just cruel. _‘I am never letting you drink ever again. New rule. NOW CHANGE ME BACK!’_

 

The squeaky articulations that Loki hears mentally is only cause for more laughing and after some time he burns himself out and falls asleep where he lies.

 

When the Trickster god awakens, it is, once again, to find himself surrounded by six very angry superheroes. The grin slides off his face like water, terror glittering in his gaze as it lands upon the Hulk. “Um…mercy? Please?”

 

The rest of the day is spent chasing Loki from one floor of the tower to the other and the Hulk enjoys smashing his puny god into the floor a few more times. 


	5. Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strongest steel is forged in the fires of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, thar be angst ahead. Also this is in past tense because I fail at keeping one tense. Sorry.

The clouds outside were a steel grey in hue, dull and grimy with the storm that was near to come. Manhattan, despite being part of the City that Never Sleeps, knew very well when to crawl away and let the storm pass in silence. It was strange to hear things so muted, lacking the cacophonous noise that generally swept through the city day to night and night to day. Loki did not find it as soothing as he had thought that he would; one reason why he had remained on earth and in this city was the chaos and bedlam that it provided to him.

 

He stood now out on the balcony at Avengers Tower, leaning against the clear railing and letting a moist wind rake at his face and tresses. The rigid set to his shoulders was a clear indicator of his mood, which was as dull and sour as the weather coming towards him. This was not one of Thor’s storms, though he was certain that if he swept his senses out, he’d find Thor somewhere in the city soaking it in much as Loki himself was doing. Storms and chaos had always gone hand in hand together and may that was why after all this time, they could not separate from one another.

 

Inside, Tony Stark watched his lover. Drops of rain had begun to fall down, beginning to soak the god as he stood there. Loki would never cease to amaze him; he was as unbending as steel in his life, strong despite all the hardships he had been put through. Or, perhaps, strong because of them. Tony knew that the strongest steel was forged in the fires of hell and Loki had certainly walked those in one way or another.

 

Opening the door, he stepped out, feeling chilly drops splash on his face and arms as he moved slowly towards his lover, like one would a spooked animal. Like steel, Loki was sharp and dangerous; deadly if pushed too hard, cunning beyond anything Tony had ever seen. Yet he felt the tension slip from the god’s lean body as he came to rest behind him, arms encircling his waist and leaning against his back, exhaling softly.

 

In front of him, the Trickster mimicked the sigh and closed his eyes, turning his eyes to the heavens and closing them to simply enjoy the calamity that the storm brought, his lover a constant ground against the monsters inside. 


	6. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention, the majority of these are pre-established relationships, though some will be otherwise.

Since Afghanistan, Tony has learned that he cannot deal with enclosed spaces that are not lit. It is a weakness that he abhors and fears, one that he does his damnedest not to show to his teammates or to his lover because he doesn’t want them to feel sorry for him. Pity is something Tony Stark desires from no one.

 

So when, during one of the missions, he is thrown into the side of a building and it collapses around him, all he can feel is all-encompassing terror that drives icy thorns into his heart. Breaths gasp in and out of his mouth as he wrenches the faceplate off, panic driving adrenaline through him because he’s trapped and cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot feel. A heavy chunk of concrete lays on his chest and stomach and he panics further thinking the arc reactor is broken but it’s not and that, at least, is safe.

 

His stomach feels like someone (a certain Norse god, for example) has kicked it in and each breath sears white-hot agony through each nerve. His fingers are numb in the gauntlets, ribs screaming at him as he arches up against the concrete to try and throw it off him. The comms are blowing up in his ear but he’s too far into panic to hear and comprehend what is going out without. All he understands and knows right now is _out out out outoutoutoutout._

 

A sparkle of green catches his attention to his far left and he watches as Loki materializes, a harsh figure in green, black, and gold. The god takes all of two seconds to assess the situation and moves to his fallen lover, pulling the concrete off as though it weighs nothing at all.

 

“Loki, Loki, Loki help get me out I don’t like this can’t take this get me out—“ Tony babbles, reaching gauntleted hands towards the god, who draws him to his feet with a gentle hand.

 

“Calm down. The others are heading this way.” They learned a while back that teleporting with the Iron Man suit on was not the best idea (Tony is still pissed about losing that chest plate). He cradles his lover, who in the suit stands nearly as tall as he does, gently, speaking in a low voice to keep Tony calm. A few minutes passes and by the time they hear the wall shudder and groan to open, Tony is fine and Loki is gone.


	7. Compliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki denies enjoying giving up dominance, but does so in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some pointless, amusing smut.

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _No._ ” It is emphatically repeated as Loki steps away from Tony again, eyes dark with growing anger and tempted arousal. Tony follows him, holding a long piece of silk that they have used in some of their more kinky escapades. Loki growls at him, backing away further.

 

“Come on, Lo’, you tie me up all the time. Let me return the favour, please?” Tony gives the god his puppy dog eyes, lower lip poking out slightly.

 

Loki bristles, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height and sneering down at his shorter lover. “That is because you are mortal and I a god. You cannot hope to restrain me, Stark.”

 

“And we’re back to last names.” Tony sighs, stepping closer even as Loki backed further away. It takes a little maneuvering on Tony’s part, but he soon manages to have the god backed into a corner and essentially trapped. Of course, they are both aware that if Loki wanted away, he could easily do so, but this is just a game. It is always a game.

 

Tony lunges, Loki attempts to flee, but in the end, the god allows himself to be overpowered. The silk is tied tightly about his wrists behind his back and Tony pushes him down to his knees. Loki sinks down, eyes glittering with fresh need and waning anger – it’s always a game with them and while it is rare that the Trickster will relinquish his dominance, he can be convinced at times. Kneeling before Tony, hands bond behind his back, knowing that soon the engineer will gag him as well, strips him of his powers and places his pleasure in Tony’s more than capable hands.

 

Tony, for his part, grins and strokes a hand through Loki’s long hair. He then braces a hand on the wall above him and speaks in a low, commanding tone. “You know what to do. Mouth only.” And Loki leans in to comply with the request.


	8. Entertainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark puts himself at Loki's mercy for one reason alone - because he knows the god has none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, with a prompt like "entertainment," what else was I supposed to do, really?

The room is softly lit with only a few candles here and there, emerald flames tossing viridian shadows onto the floor and ceiling. The windows are tinted as black as they will go and soft music whispers lowly through the area, a heady hum to build tension upon.

 

On the bed, with his arms tied to the head board tightly, kneeling, is Tony Stark. He is stripped to nothing, bare flesh glinting a strange hue in the green light of the room. In addition to his bound hands, his eyes are covered with a black strip of cloth to steal away his sight and his mouth bears a gag. Faint trembles wrack their way through his stocky body, which is covered in a faint sheen of sweat.

 

Behind him, more cloaked in shadows than in the light, stands the Trickster god. Loki wears only a simple pair of leather trousers, his torso bare. On silent, bare feet, he walks to the bed and kneels behind his blind and mute lover, who visibly shakes at the added weight behind him. Loki trails one hand up the inventor’s back, feeling the sweat there and loving the anticipatory shiver that runs through Tony. A cloth manifests in his hand and he slowly wipes off the sweat from his lover’s body, building the tension in the room further.

 

He knows what it does to Stark. Like this, he is at Loki’s utter mercy. They have a safety signal for when gags are used, a motion made with their hands to signify a need to stop then and there. Neither of them has ever actually used it. They both get off on this; they both enjoy being in control and losing that control. Neither one is the absolute dominant or submissive – they switch. It keeps things exciting and interesting for them.

 

He calls a candle to him, holding it carefully while leaning forward to murmur in a low, melodic purr into his lover’s ear. “Now, you’re going to enjoy this, my pretty little inventor. Just try not to wiggle about too much.” With that, he tilts the candle and the hot wax pours down onto Tony’s shoulders. He arches with a hiss through his flared nostrils, eyes closing tight behind the blindfold. Loki savours the full body shudder and slowly drips more wax down the inventor. He lifts onto his knees and leans over the other man to drip some on his bare things, making Tony utter a cry that the gag can’t quite silence.

 

“Shh, shh, easy now.” For all the pain that comes with the wax, pleasure too makes headway and Loki can see the engineer’s cock throbbing eagerly. He chuckles softly, wiping away the wax and vanishing the candle back to where it had been on the floor. “No more of that. Something else now.”

 

This time when his hands return to the tanned flesh of Stark, they are colder than an ice cube could ever hope to be. He trails icy fingertips over the areas where wax had been, savouring the low moans and greedy noises that Stark makes. Now and again he will place a hot kiss to cool flesh, knowing how the temperature play drives Tony mad.

 

After some minutes, when the inventor’s hips have begun thrusting into nothingness, Loki relents and wraps a hand about the hard length of Tony’s cock, stroking lightly. He can tell Tony is right on the edge, shaking with the need to orgasm. “Come.” Loki orders in his cultured voice, continuing to stroke until the man climaxes with a muted cry, arching up and back against the god who grins against his shoulders – his turn.


	9. Turkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki wants ALL the holidays!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crack. No, seriously, that's all this is. My headcanon is that Loki likes holidays for the food alone xD

“Stark, I am not eating this.” Loki states in his calmest tone (which, of course, means he’s furious). He is staring – well, glaring really – at the poor turkey that Tony has just set in front of him. It’s Thanksgiving, their first one, and Tony is having difficulties convincing Loki that the food is good to eat. A moderate feast (it would probably sate Thor) sits on the table, none of it cooked by either of them. Tony has had a preorder in for some months now and everything had been delivered hot just moments before.

 

His lover, however, does not appear to see the point in this feast.

 

Tony sighs patiently, cutting the turkey. “Yes, you are. Or you’ll go without and I’ll eat it all myself.” This earns him a glower so acidic that it could have taken the paint off of his suit. After cutting the turkey and the ham up, he sits down on the seat next to his lover and takes a bite of turkey.

 

Loki glares still before finally giving in and reaching for the fowl, putting one slice of it and two slices of ham on his plate, taking one roll and nothing else. Tony rolls his eyes and piles his plate high with something of everything, gluttonous because he can be because it’s Thanksgiving, thank you very much. The next time he looks up, Loki has piled more turkey on his plate and is eating with gusto, much more so than normal.

 

“We are to eat this henceforth.” Loki commands, glowering at Tony, who laughs.

 

“You only really eat it at Thanksgiving and Christmas, Lo’.” He says, laughing still.

 

Loki hmphs. “Then I declare this Christmas to be tomorrow!”

 

Tony falls out laughing, the god glowers, and the poor turkey sits uneaten for a while as Loki enacts his revenge on Tony for laughing at him.


End file.
